I wrote this piece after attending the 1 year memorial of the death of Esmin Green in New York City. I'm sharing it again because today is the 8 year anniversary of her death. We must not forget!

Esmin Green's death by neglect at a Brooklyn, NY psychiatric emergency room is symptomatic of the widespread and systematic injustice often perpetrated against people with mental health disabilities.

On Friday, June 19, 2009, I went to Brooklyn, NY, to attend a rally and candlelight vigil in memory of Esmin Green. Ms. Green's story is but a symptom of the widespread and systematic injustice often perpetrated against people with mental health disabilities.

Esmin Green was 49 years old. An émigré from Jamaica, she was a hard worker who'd recently lost her job, and was about to lose her home. Like many of us in such circumstances, this was not an easy time for her.

A well-meaning pastor decided that perhaps Ms. Green should get some help, and had her taken to Kings County Hospital Center Psychiatric Emergency Room. There, she changed into a hospital gown, and went to the waiting room so that she could be seen.

Ms. Green waited a very, very long time, and still was not seen. She did not receive a physical exam, nor did anyone speak to her. She just sat there waiting. People came and went about their business, and Ms. Green waited.

Twenty-five hours later, Ms. Green was still waiting when she suddenly collapsed. Did anyone come to her aid? No! People came and went about their business. A security guard came and took a quick peek. Did he summon anyone? No! A nurse scooted by on her stool, glanced, and whizzed away, not once getting up. Ms. Green lay on that floor for an hour before another nurse decided to come over and take her pulse. By then, it was too late. Esmin Elizabeth Green was dead.

According to a report by the New York City Department of Investigations (DOI), her neglect was not the result of overcrowding or of overwork. The report also indicates that hospital staffers lied and falsified records. If not for the fact that the emergency room's security video captured the horrible sequence of Ms. Green's waiting and her death, the hospital would have had the perfect cover-up.

Why did Esmin Green die? Frankly, the reason was the fact that she had a psychiatric label. I'm not the only one who believes this. There were many psychiatric survivors and advocates at the rally in Ms. Green's memory, which took place exactly one year after she died. Several of the survivors were former patients at that very hospital. They told horrible stories of neglect and abuse that happened to them there. Sheila Hill, a mental health advocate who attended the rally, said "If a person has a psychiatric label they don't have credibility and they complain, well they're just mentally ill." Sarah Berman, a psychiatric survivor said, "It is not unusual at all. It's something that could have happened to any of us. The sad fact is, when you have a mental health diagnosis, you have no credibility. Anything you say or do is suspect, so if you complain about ill treatment or discrimination, you're simply dismissed as being crazy".

I know. I, too, am a psychiatric survivor. I remember some years ago, having terrible stomach pains. Sometimes, it was so bad that I found myself in the emergency room. As soon as the doctors looked through my records and found that I had a history of depression, they would tell me that the pain was "in my head" or "from my depression", and they would pat me on the back and send me home. This happened several times until finally, I was sent for an ultrasound. To make a long story short, I required emergency surgery.

What is really infuriating about Esmin Green's story is that discrimination on a number of levels is what led to her death. Her involuntary placement at Kings County Hospital was a violation of Olmstead, a Supreme Court ruling that states that unnecessary institutionalization is discrimination under the Americans with Disabilities Act. People with disabilities have the right to live and to receive services in the most integrated setting possible. The neglect that she endured from health care staff and hospital workers was indicative of a pervasive prejudice against people with mental health disabilities.

Too often, those of us with psychiatric disabilities endure injustice at the hands of others. Ignorance and fear seem to be the driving force behind this. People hear the stereotypes, and believe, as well as act upon them. Some are discriminated against in housing, work, health care, school; their basic human rights violated. Some are unfairly locked away for the crime of having this disability. Some, like Esmin Green, even die.

Early Sunday morning I woke up to some horrible news. A gunman had entered Pulse, a popular Gay bar in Orlando, Florida, and began shooting. It took police three hours to get to him because he created a hostage situation and apparently, they were trying to negotiate with him.

When it was all over, 50 people, including the gunman, were dead and at least 53 were injured.

I offer my deepest, most heartfelt sympathy to the victims, the injured, the traumatized, their families and friends as they deal with a tragedy beyond reckoning. My heart is with you!

As soon as I heard the story, I knew 2 things: if the shooter was a Muslim, Islamophobia would rear its ugly head and eventually, someone would blame a mental health condition for his unspeakably horrific act.

Unfortunately, I was right on both counts. The shooter, Omar Mateen, was an American-born Muslim and his ex wife claimed that he was mentally unstable. That led to people, including the racist, hateful Donald Trump, fanning the flames of hatred and Islamophobia, while others jumped on the bandwagon of scapegoating and blaming this on mental health issues.

Another thing I knew that would happen was people would attempt to back away from the fact that this was an attack on the LGBTQ community, as well as people of color and frame it as radical Islamic terrorism.

The Pope and several politicians have spoken about this horrendous outrage, while purposely failing to say that it was LGBTQ people at a Gay nightclub who were attacked. If that isn't erasing, I don't know what is!

This hit way too close to home for me. Like the victims of this horrible massacre, I belong to the LGBTQ community; I'm a proud lesbian. In addition, I'm Afro-Latina and Choctaw. It was Latinx Night and a celebration of Indigenous peoples, so most of the over 300 people there were Latinx. I love going to Gay bars and had I lived in Orlando, could easily have been chilling at Pulse.

For some reason, this mass shooting, the worst in U.S. history, has triggered old memories and I am not feeling so safe.

This made me think about an incident that happened to me. Shortly after I came out back home in Chicago in 1986, a friend and I were attacked (gay bashed) as we left a Gay bar on Chicago's North side. Four young men pushed and hit us while hurling anti-LGBTQ slurs. They even followed us on the bus and continued the attack while people watched and did nothing. We managed to get off of the bus and walk home and call the police. As soon as they saw us, two young Black wimmin, it was clear that they, two White cops, gave less than a damn about us. We had to force them to make out a police report.

Our experience with the police mirrors the experience of many, many, many LGBTQ folks. 30 years later, not much has changed for us, which is why I have major problems with the length of time it took the police to bring the carnage at Pulse to an end.

Whatever the reason, most in the LGBTQ community know that the police judge us by our so-called "lifestyle" and "preference" and for the most part, don't really care for us as human beings.

Gay bars and spaces have always been seen as safe spaces for us, but what happened at Pulse proves that there really aren't safe places for us in the LGBTQ community, or anywhere, for that matter.

I'm guilty of almost being lulled into a false sense of security because I hadn't been gay bashed in quite some time. Almost, because I always had it in the back of my mind that it could happen again. I'd breathed a sigh of relief when the dude in Colorado Springs who saw me leave a concert alone with my Pride shirt on, only followed me and yelled stuff at me and didn't beat or rape me.

I started to feel like things were getting better because I could hold my wife's hand, or give her a peck on the cheek without people making comments, but maybe I am safe because my wife looks "manly". Still, I'm no femme; I, too, get mistaken for a guy. I think I've just been lucky. Others, particularly trans folks, especially trans wimmin of color are brutalized and murdered almost with impunity and suffer further indignity by being misgendered by police and reporters.

What happened at Pulse has brought all of this back to me, though I know that even though we have marriage equality and can serve openly in the military, that means nothing when our lives are so devalued that we can be slaughtered on the street or in what we think is a safe space and people celebrate our death. We can still get fired from our jobs, LGBTQ teenagers are killing themselves in record numbers due to bullying and people are still afraid to come out for fear of this, as well as being disowned by parents, who have no qualms about putting their preteen or teenaged children out on the street.

I keep wondering what the clubbers at Pulse were thinking. Were they feeling safe because they were there and could be themselves?

And, let it not be forgotten ever, ever, EVER that this hate crime was not only against the LGBTQ community, but also against people of color. Almost every single person murdered in cold blood that early Sunday morning was either Latinx, Black and/or Indigenous. Let's not whitewash or erase this!

And for folk wanting to believe that this was radical Islamic terrorism and wondering where the guy got radicalized, that radicalization took place right here in the good old U. S. of A., but the massacre at Pulse had nothing to do with Islam or religion! It had everything to do with the fact that the shooter was an angry, violent individual who hated the LGBTQ community, whose hatred caused him to plan an act of unspeakable evil.

This guy was an American, born and bred. He was a wannabe who ran his mouth, but law enforcement found no ties to Islamic terrorists. That 911 call was his last attempt to make himself seem bigger than he. He wasn't really religious. If any radicalization took place that would lead him to plan the massacre at Pulse, it was society's overall views on the LGBTQ community and people of color. It was his hatred of himself as a gay man.

I hear people saying that the shooter had mental health issues because his ex wife claimed that he was mentally unstable. Don't fall into the trap of blaming this on mental health issues! That seems to happen after every mass shooting. All this does is stigmatize folks with mental health conditions; as as someone who lives with depression, I can say with certainty that this is not good for us. Those of us with mental health conditions are far more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators.

As for gun control, yes, we need it, but not at the expense of, and on the backs of folks with mental health disabilities. We need to make it harder for anyone to get guns, especially assault weapons.

What we really need to do is to address the underlying reasons and causes of mass shootings.

Sometimes it's hard to figure out why people go on mass shootings, but sometimes, injustice is the root cause. I'm not trying to make excuses, but it is well-known that if some people are systematically abused and marginalized, they will turn violent.

For me, though, the thing foremost in my mind is that my people were slaughtered. I'm in deep mourning and I am angry! Angry that people are trying to make something out of this that erases the glaring fact that these beautiful people were LGBTQ and people of color. They were targeted for being who they were. They were from groups that it is very easy for people to hate on. They were enjoying and celebrating their culture - my culture - in what was supposed to be a safe space, only to have their lives ripped from them by someone who saw himself as being of the dominant culture and therefore, better than them.

I'm deep in my feelings right now, so I'm asking y'all to bear with me. I'm afraid to leave my house. Don't come at me with that don't-give-in-to-fear BS. Let me work this out on my own. I'm also having flashbacks of the gay bashing my friend and I endured. I don't know why that's happening, but it is.

My thoughts are scattered and I'm doing my best to put these thoughts down while they're still fresh and raw, so pardon me if this sounds disjointed.

I call on my friends and allies to honor these beautiful people, lift them up and speak out against homophobia, transphobia and racism. Write blogs, articles and statements of support and solidarity that center us. If you run an organization, mainstream or no, please make public statements in solidarity with our communities. While I have seen a vast outpouring of support from individuals on social media, I haven't seen much from straight, White-led organizations, including mainstream disability organizations. I thank those organizations and individuals that have made statements of support.

Some have asked specifically what the disability community can do, since some of the survivors may acquire disabilities as a result of the shooting. As someone with disabilities, I think that there needs to be some healing first. I also think that we in the disability community need to be really careful that we don't make this all about us and forget that this is about an attack on the LGBTQ community of people of color.

Perhaps we should concentrate on being good allies, embracing their LGBTQ/POC identities before we sweep them under the disability umbrella, lest we be seen as only caring because some may now be disabled.

I also ask that you remember that those of us who are LGBTQ and Latinx, Afro-Latinx and Indigenous are grieving hard. Please don't come at us with stuff about radical Islamic terrorism. The guy may have been a Muslim. He may have wanted to be involved with terrorists. He may have did and said things just before the massacre at Pulse, but this had nothing to do with Islam! There is homophobia and transphobia in the Muslim community, just as there is in all the major religions and society at large. But his religion was not the cause of this hate crime. His hatred and anger is what brought this about.

Also, please don't send us pics, tweets or other stuff about hateful people celebrating the bloodbath at Pulse. There are some of us who are still struggling with our feelings about our orientation. We don't need to see that mess!

Take heart for, and remember that there were, and are people who were outed without their permission. They may face reprisals from family members or may even get fired from their jobs.

Understand that this is not the first time that LGBTQ, Indigenous people and folks of color have been killed en masse, nor will this be the last. A man was arrested in California with guns and bomb materials headed to a Pride parade. I am hearing about public attacks on trans people since Orlando. This is extremely frightening, given that trans people, particularly trans wimmin of color are targeted and preyed upon.

Finally, while I know that allies are angry, as well, please don't make this about you. It's about a hate crime against LGBTQ people of color. Also, if you get called out by one of us for making this about you, understand and step back. Don't get angry. Remember to lift up and center us and don't talk over us. Don't straightsplain or Whitesplain to us about our experiences. Be good and conscientious allies.

It's going to take me a long time to get through this; long after they stop talking about it on the news. Long after the memorials have gotten faded and dusty and long after everyone has forgotten us and moved on to other concerns.

As a disability rights activist, a critical part of disability rights advocacy and activism is, for me, the fight against assisted suicide and euthanasia.

I have been involved in this aspect of the movement for quite some time, upwards of 15 years. I am a member of, and sit on the board of Not Dead Yet, a national, grassroots disability rights organization opposed to the legalization of assisted suicide and euthanasia as deadly forms of discrimination.

I've always noticed, but it has never really hit me until now, that very few Blacks are a part of the movement.

While we do get support from other Blacks, and there may be a token Black or two at local Not Dead Yet events and protests, as far as I know, I'm the only Black person in the country who is consistently active in this movement. I could be wrong. I hope I am.

Why is this? Why don't more Black folks get involved with the anti assisted suicide movement?

It is well-known that the face of the anti assisted suicide movement, indeed, the disability rights movement, is White. It is well-known that often, contributions of Blacks to the disability rights movement are erased or unacknowledged. Even if Blacks are seen as leaders, the ones in front of the cameras or receiving the awards and accolades are usually White.

A 2013 Pew study showed that 65% of Black folks are against assisted suicide. Still, there is scant involvement of Black folks in campaigns to stop legislation that would legalize assisted suicide and euthanasia.

I have some ideas why there's almost no Black participation in this movement.

1. This isn't a part of our culture.

Frankly, assisted suicide isn't something that is discussed in the Black community. I'd never heard of it, even though my birth mother lived with chronic illness and lived to see the end results of her condition. Not once did she complain. Not once did she ask to die. None of the folks in my church or community wanted to die because they were sick or disabled. I'm not saying that suicide doesn't exist in the Black community, but in my experience, it was due to depression related to situational issues, such as the loss of a job, a spouse or loved one or something else entirely. When we get sick or become disabled, we or our families often turn to prayer or the church.

2. Assisted suicide is considered a White thing.

Many Black folks who I talk to about the anti assisted suicide movement say "that's a White thing, we don't do that stuff". They ask me why have I devoted myself to a predominantly White issue.

3. Blacks with disabilities have enough specific issues to work on without working on an almost exclusively White issue that doesn't affect us.

Some Black activists have told me that I'm wasting time on a movement that has nothing to do with us and that I should be involved in working on issues that directly affect Black folks.

The reasons above are valid but I've never let my race be a reason why I don't do certain forms of activism. I have always been a pioneer, being the first or only Black in my class or my town to do something.

When I first got involved with the social justice and change movement at age 16, I was part of the anti nuclear movement. Yes, I was the only Black person in my group, and that would be true of every group I was a part of until I discovered ADAPT.

I joined the anti assisted suicide and anti euthanasia movement because I felt that it was important to fight against the devaluation of the lives of people with disabilities. Physician assisted suicide and euthanasia of people with disabilities is a deadly form of discrimination resulting from the fact that doctors and others do not see the lives of people with disabilities as valuable. This mirrors society's beliefs that our lives are not worth living and that it is better to be dead than disabled.

The legalization of assisted suicide sets up a two-tiered system where if a non-disabled person is suicidal, they will receive treatment sometimes against their will, while people with disabilities experiencing the same get assisted suicide as an "option" or "choice". Society frames the suicide of a non-disabled person as, at worst, a very selfish act or at best, the act of a sick person, while suicide by someone with a disability is considered to be brave and considerate, rather than a tragedy.

Assisted suicide legalization supporters see it as a choice to end their lives when they want to, but there are already options available without legalization.

Sometimes it feels odd as a Black person to be involved with the anti assisted suicide movement. It feels lonely to be the only Black face in my local group. I know that many people feel that I'm only a token.

It has only been very recently that there has been any form of conversation about the involvement of Blacks in the anti assisted suicide/anti euthanasia movement. I can only guess at the reasons for this. There needs to be far more conversations with, and outreach to the black community.

My presence as part of the movement is important and valuable. As we fight potential ballot initiatives in our state that would legalize euthanasia by lethal injection, Blacks will get caught up because due to medical racism, the lives of Blacks are already seen as less worthy than Whites. That's even more so with Blacks with disabilities. Our families are pressured to withdraw life support for loved ones or we fall under state's futility laws.

If euthanasia and assisted suicide laws that aren't restricted to terminally ill folks goes into law here in Colorado, Black folks will surely join the movement as more and more of us are coerced into dying by the medical establishment.

Even if we win the fight in Colorado and defeat those ballot initiatives, groups like Compassion and Choices, formerly, The Hemlock Society, and other groups won't stop until there is assisted suicide, at the very least, in Colorado.

As more states try to legalize assisted suicide and euthanasia, we Blacks, especially those of us with disabilities, will have to stop seeing this as merely a privileged White people's issue and see that this touches us too. We can't afford for the only voice in this to be White. We bring a unique and valuable perspective to the movement that cannot be understated.

I call on both the Disability and the Black community around the nation to come together and work on how we amplify Black voices and Black participation in the anti assisted suicide movement. We must be in solidarity with each other. Too many lives are at stake.